


Pride

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, M/M, The World Event we deserve but will never receive, pride month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Summer Pride celebrations take place in Stormwind, Orgrimmar, and Silvermoon.





	Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the slight Horde bias (!) here! I'm not familiar with many of the non-human Alliance characters, but if anyone wants to write a follow-up about Pride in Darnassus, Ironforge, or the Exodar, that would be most excellent!

**Stormwind**

Anduin saw him waiting in the doorway of the Keep, light spilling over his shoulders and catching in his curly hair. He had traded his usual purple-and-red attire for blue, white, and pink, and it suited him, making Anduin wonder if he should have swapped his own armor for something more festive, as well.

But there was no time for that now. The parade was about to begin, and outside a crowd had gathered to hear his opening remarks. He nodded to the first row of guards flanking the ramp out the door, and the sound of their hurried salute seemed to catch Wrathion’s attention. A grin spread across his face. Their eyes met, and the dragon took a wholly-unnecessary bow that sent fire to Anduin’s cheeks as he murmured—

“Hello, King Wrynn.”

The sound that left Anduin’s lips was anything but deserving of such an address. He coughed, trying to mask it, which only seemed to encourage the dragon’s excessive formality. “Prince Wrathion,” he rested a hand on his arm, then lowered his voice to add a quick, “Just Anduin is fine, you know.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Now Anduin was fairly certain the dragon was trying to make him blush, and the worst part was, it was working. Conscious of the heat as the two of them stepped out into the sun, he let his hand linger on Wrathion’s sleeve a moment too long, trying to relearn the softness of silk and the feel of his delicate wrist concealed beneath. 

He had been too long without Wrathion, and now, in light of the celebration, he found it difficult to keep decorum and all the secrets he was supposed to conceal as king. Every year he had imagined attending the parade with someone he loved, and now he finally had his chance.

And Wrathion looked...well, stunning, in soft pastels, and with the high Stormwind sun playing across his skin as he watched him, smirking, and murmuring:

“It’s your first time opening the Pride festivities, is it not? You must be excited, my dear.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Anduin was grateful for the conversation. It made Wrathion’s wrist slightly less distracting as he released it to gesture towards the rainbow banners now unfurled from the Keep’s outer wall. “My father has had me hosting since I returned from Pandaria. You, well, you know how he was.”

“Closeted, you mean?” 

“Yes, something like that.” Tucking back a strand of his hair, Anduin’s gaze wandered to the statue on his left, realizing that the rainbows had been added to the rim of his father’s fountain, as well. The decorators couldn’t have known the significance, but it made him smile nonetheless. 

At least in death, his father could finally be who he was, and the thought made Anduin’s chest swell with pride. His father, who had learned to listen to him, who had comforted him when Wrathion disappeared, who had promised he would never force Anduin to marry as had been done to him. 

His father, whose statue now watched a colorful crowd burst into applause as Anduin, and Wrathion beside him, came into view. 

“This way, your Majesty,” General Clay circled around them, gesturing towards a podium set up under the archway, and Wrathion took this as his cue to depart. 

Standing up a bit straighter and putting some distance between them with a quick sidestep, he looked to Anduin and started, “I will be here when you’re done, and then perhaps we can—”

“No!” Anduin was a little too quick to cut in, a little too impulsive. When he had imagined this moment the night before, he had reminded himself that, Pride or no Pride, being king required a certain level of discretion. But with Wrathion beside him, and all his daydreams finally within reach, feeling took over and he reached out to catch his hand. 

Their fingers touched; Wrathion’s eyes widened, and Anduin managed to stammer a quick, “No, please, come with me. I mean, if you want to. I’d like you to—”

“Of course!” Luckily, Wrathion didn’t seem to care about the stammering. This time, he was even too surprised to look smug. Instead, he simply laced their fingers together, and let Anduin take the lead, up the stairs, behind the podium, and into full view of the crowd.

Knowing his cheeks must be glowing, he swallowed, all but clinging to Wrathion with his right hand as his left rested against the stone dais. Taking a moment, he drew in a breath. There would be repercussions...oh, Genn would certainly have something to say when the party was over, but when he looked out over the crowd, so many eager faces looked back at him for support and he knew he couldn’t let down his people, or his boyfriend, or himself. 

Moving quickly, too quickly to let reason kick in, he leaned over and pressed his lips against Wrathion’s cheek. The dragon drew in a breath; around them the audience gasped, then swelled, then roared to life with cheers and applause that thundered like Anduin’s pulse in his ears. 

Turning back towards them, his face all but glowed in the Stormwind sun. Lifting their hands together over his head, he abandoned his speech for the only words he could bring to his lips, short and sincere as they were, with Wrathion’s fingers clenched between his own.

“Citizens of Stormwind, welcome to Pride!”

♥ ♥ ♥

**Orgrimmar**

The last rays of sun disappeared beneath a glow of fires lining the Dranosh’ar Blockade. Thrall felt them crackle and dance in the wind, but he remained on the sidelines, focusing instead on the silhouettes of orcs, trolls, and goblins milling around in the dark. 

Taking a sip of his beer, he listened as two Darkspear archers tried to impress one of the new arrivals from Suramar. One troll drew back his arm in a mock gesture of combat, and the other cut in to explain something about the cocktail the elf clutched in his elegant fingers. 

The whole exchange brought a smile to Go’el’s lips, though it wavered when the elf’s gaze—like two bright stars in the night—wandered in his direction. He knew the shal’dorei had no means to recognize him, but he worried the trolls’ eyes would soon follow, and he didn’t want to risk being pulled in the crowd. Swallowing, he kept his head low. So focused on not being seen by the people in front of him, he forgot to listen for footsteps behind him until a voice cut in near his ear. 

“The celebration has certainly grown since you started it, hasn’t it, Warchief?” 

Thrall glanced to his side, and his shoulders relaxed when he recognized Eitrigg’s grey face in the dark. His friend’s eyes flashed as the bonfire swelled, and something about his smile soothed Thrall, inviting him to speak freely as he once had. He shifted to the side, making room on the stone for the new arrival. 

The shaman waited for Eitrigg to take a seat before he gently corrected, “I wasn’t the one who started this celebration.”

“Oh?” Eitrigg sat up a bit straighter, bringing his beer to his lips in what could have only been an attempt to hide his frown. Not wanting his friend to feel awkward about his mistake, Thrall shifted closer, and followed the warrior’s gesture.

“So it was Garrosh?” He finally asked, and Thrall nodded, and swallowed. 

“When he heard about Stormwind’s parade, he insisted—” Cursing the emotion that swelled in his throat, Thrall tried again, quieter, and more matter-of-fact, though the content of his speech had become no less difficult to navigate. “That was after the war in Northrend, back when we— Well, it seems like a lifetime ago.”

“Yes,” Eitrigg lowered his eyes, but his voice remained steady, and as diplomatic as ever. Thrall had never been more grateful for the orc’s strength. “Garrosh was unusual in that. He cared so much, yet so little, about the opinions of others.”

Especially mine, Thrall wanted to add, remembering how they had fought when Garrosh first proposed the idea, and how he had insisted that such a celebration would cause strain among the more traditional clans. But once again, Thrall had to admit his error. Across the bonfire, an older farseer embraced her mate, and two lumbering grunts wearing the Warsong colors now stumbled into each other’s arms. He smiled, and Eitrigg seemed to sense it, returning the look in kind. 

They drank together in silence for a moment, then, as another gust of wind flickered its way through the bonfires, Eitrigg added, “I always wanted to be open, as well. But it was difficult. He was a paladin, and a human. And I—”

“Would have honored him as his mate,” Thrall supplied, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving his friend a squeeze. He felt Eitrigg relax under his fingers, but their eyes both stayed fixed on the fire, as if turning and looking at one another would invite the flood of emotion they both struggled to hold back. 

Eitrigg drew in a breath and nodded. Thrall lifted his mug, and listened to the sea lapping at the shore behind them, to the festivities playing out across the plain.

To the fireworks that crashed overhead, and the cheers of orcs too young to remember a time without Garrosh or the sin’dorei or the city and culture they had made for themselves beneath Kalimdor’s sweeping night sky. 

Pursing his lips together around his tusks, he knocked his mug against Eitrigg’s, in a gesture more solemn than it was jovial. “To those who should have been here to celebrate.”

“And to a brighter future for Orgrimmar,” Eitrigg supplied, finally turning and catching his eye. Sharing a smile and a sip of their beers, the two of them enjoyed that moment of silence, before toasting again, louder, more hopeful. 

“To progress.”

♥ ♥ ♥

**Silvermoon**

Liadrin lingered beside the hors d'oeuvres spread out on a table in the corner, not really as concerned by her choice of refreshment as she was about avoiding the dance. Every year, the gowns seemed to get even more extravagant, but she was satisfied in her formal black tunic piped with red and gold and to watch the swish of chiffon and glitter of gems rather than getting involved.

It suited her; growing up as a priest’s apprentice, she had never been taught the waltz, and even now, the thought of attempting to join alone set her nerves on edge. But that did not stop her gaze from wandering through the couples, lingering on every flash of purple or white even before she was willing to admit who her gaze sought out. 

There was Valtrois dancing with Stellagosa, and Oculeth seemed to be distracting Rommath from Halduron, much to the latter’s displeasure, with questions about the colorful lanterns floating above the dance floor.

And finally, there was Thalyssra, skirting the floor with her elegant train caught between jewel-adorned fingers. Gold eyes met silver, and recognition flashed across the Arcanist’s face. She quickened her pace, approaching the table, letting her gown spill across the floor as she bowed, “My lady.”

“I hope you are enjoying yourself, Thalyssra.” Liadrin tried not to let her gaze linger too long, but it was difficult not to dwell on the shal’dorei’s elegance. And if Thalyssra caught on, she seemed not to mind, a smile playing on her lips as they exchanged what could have only been a look of mutual admiration. 

Feeling her cheeks start to darken, Liadrin straightened her shoulders, and soon the ambassador had moved to stand by her side. “Yes, Archmage Sunreaver was just explaining the Pride celebration to Silgyn and I,” she extended her hand towards a column across the room, where Aethas strained up on his toes to drape his arms over the swordsman’s broad shoulders. A short laugh escaped her, and Thalyssra’s titter soon followed as she added, her voice more relaxed, “I decided they wanted to be alone.”

“So it seems,” Liadrin was quick to agree, and even quicker to accept the First Arcanist’s hand when it slid down to rest on her forearm. They exchanged another long look, and then Thalyssra stepped back in front of her, this time extending her hands upturned as if welcoming Liadrin to join her. 

When Liadrin looked down and hesitated, the shal’dorei took a step closer. Finally, slow but deliberate, the blood knight accepted the gesture, curling her fingers into the arcanist’s palms and allowing their arms to be guided to rest against Thalyssra’s jewel-studded chest. 

Feeling the lady’s heart beat, Liadrin’s breath caught in her throat. She set her lips in a line and tried not to fluster, but all her victories and defeats had not prepared her for the smile that flashed in Thalyssra’s pale eyes. 

“I don’t dance,” she thought to warn, but the shal’dorei’s smile remained unhindered. She felt Thalyssra draw in a breath, felt her watching her every move as she leaned down and rested their foreheads together to whisper:

“Then perhaps we can try learning together.”


End file.
